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Thursday, January 30, 2014

Kitty Reincarnation

[Note: This post was originally published on The Mrs on September 29, 2012. And yes, she's still gone. Ungrateful sonofa...]

So Thursday, like the responsible pet owner I am — Sandi’s the one bribing strangers with baked goods to take her cat, okay?
Mine just dropped dead in our basement of natural causes, I swear — I
bundled up two boys to drop off Asmodean at the vet for his neuter...

Five months old. A touch young, but only a touch, and I’m an advocate of
grabbing them quick before they (a) multiply into more catlets and (b)
get hit by hormones and morph into psycho-feral cat-o-saurs.

(Like dinosaurs, but feral and with the ability to climb trees.)

Anyhow, three baffled scratched vet techs and a disgruntled kitten later, we arrived back at home, cat still in tow.

Because you can’t neuter girl parts, you see.

I shit you not, you can’t make this up. (I have been assured by Facebook that I am not the only person this has happened to...)

So yeah. Asmodean, our little boy, is in fact more of a Halima (Wheel of
Time joke, heh.). He’s a she. And now the name Asmodean just doesn’t
fit.

Which is kind of good, because our neighbours were a touch perplexed as
to why we had a cat named Asmodean and this bumper sticker on the van:

And let’s face it, most of them are aware Shakespeare dropped dead on
Friday the thirteenth. (Um... and that I’m a little nuttier than your
average fruitcake housewife.)

First thought: must be another baddie-WoT name. MUST.

Halima? Hallie for short? Boys vetoed it.

Mesaana? No. Just... no.

Alviarin? Alvie? Meh.

Lanfear (heh — it can be argued she cut off Asmodean’s whatsits... thanks for that, Richard). ::sigh:: No.

Selene? Nah, too prissy by far— despite this cat being a bonafide
snuggler, it’s less manipulative and more simple cuddling. Too nice.

Moghedien?... Moggie? The boys cheered, because Moghedien is just fun to say, darn it!

Imagining veterinarians, vet techs, receptionists, and just about
anybody not WoT-affiliated encountering the name on paper and attempting
to wrap their tongue about it (ha HA!) kept my interest...

Then, (shoutout to my favourite podcasters), I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of calling an aging black cat by the nickname “Ol Mog.” SOLD!

So that’s the story of how Asmo became Moggie, and we’re still unsure if
the new name will stick. She’s currently sitting in the middle of the
living room floor with her back to us, displaying prime kitty disdain
for the day’s indignity (because I’m writing this on Thursday evening,
natch). But I have hope.

Also? I’m incredibly stubborn. And cats aren’t exactly known for coming when called, so I WIN!

(The thing is, I could swear I’ve only seen Toms with noses that long... hm.)